


you are not alone in this

by ironarana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Gen, Harley Keener Needs a Hug, Harley Keener-centric, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), TW Suicide mention, stay safe, tony is still dead guys i'm sorry, tw self harm mention, unfortunately
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 08:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21071816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironarana/pseuds/ironarana
Summary: They stood there like that a moment, something slotting into place. They were the ones that got away, the ones who were left behind. Just two boys lucky enough to have met Tony Stark. Something in the firmness and the fierceness in their embrace echoed determination.They werenotgoing to let Tony down.





	you are not alone in this

**Author's Note:**

> idk who or what possessed me to write a 7k harley keener centric fic but it happened and it's here now. so. 
> 
> also this was gonna contain like two other scenes and a detail interwoven throughout the story but i had to call myself out and just post this as is cause i knew i was never gonna add those scenes and that detail. none of your probably care but anyways. 
> 
> title is from timshel by mumford and sons
> 
> (please heed the tags and stay safe!)
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Harley Keener was angry. 

And he knew anger. He knew the bone deep, rattling anger. The all consuming rage that seemed to burn eternally and he could never make it go away, no matter how hard he tried. 

He’d been angry a long time. Maybe he just didn’t know it when he was younger because he didn’t quite understand. 

Didn’t understand what it meant when his dad drove off that one night and never came back. 

Didn’t understand when the boys started teasing him at school and shoving him against walls of lockers that rattled just the right way Harley did. But it was fearful, the kind that made his heart jump around wildly in his ribcage while the older boys laughed in his face before moving on. 

As he grew a little older, he began to understand. Why sometimes he walked into the garage and was filled with an inexplicable urge to break everything inside. To watch it shatter like glass beneath his feet. He was hurting. He wanted something, or someone, to understand the hurt. But he didn’t want to hurt anyone. He knew he had to find a way to let out his frustrations. 

So he took to fixing things. Whatever he could. He had a fully decked out garage and he had tools now, ever since the very generous and exorbitantly expensive Christmas gift he came to when he was younger, courtesy of Tony Stark. He became the town mechanic. He repaired cars, motorcycles, even came to the diner to fix the refrigeration system. Fixing things, he learned, was much more satisfying than breaking things. It didn’t make the pain go away but it helped. 

He’d lived without the urge to break things for a long time until one day, he came home to a vacant living room. 

Normally, his mom was home from the diner by now cooking dinner on the stove. It should’ve been hot and ready to serve. And she would talk to him about his day and see if he charged the farmer fairly for tractor repairs. 

But she wasn’t there. And the stove was cold. 

“Mom?” Harley called out. He searched the house frantically, heart pounding like his footsteps across the creaking wood floors. “Mom, are you home? Mom? Bella?” 

Bella’s bedroom was covered in band posters plastered over the bright pink walls, stuffed animals shoved into the corner of the open closet. But she wasn’t anywhere to be found, even though she should’ve been home from school by now too. 

His eyes scanned the room and then snagged on something strange: her backpack. 

He stepped over the mess of wrinkled clothes strewn across the floor and grabbed her backpack. All her books were still in it, math textbook and homework open on her bed. So she did come home from school. But where was she now? The only thing on her bed was a thin layer of ashes settling over the blankets. 

Cold horror slowly spindled down his spine like ice, coiling tightly. But before he could think any further, he heard a loud crash outside accompanied by a blood curdling scream. 

Harley bolted from the house and out the front door to see a car crashed into the light post on the street corner. He ran across the yard to see only a screaming woman in the passenger seat. No driver. Just ashes drifting slowly down from the air into the seat. 

“What happened?” Harley asked, terrified. “Where’s the driver?” 

The woman shook her head, crying and shaking with panic. She sobbed, “I don’t know. One second he was there and then the next he was gone.” 

Harley didn’t know what the hell that even meant. How that could even happen. This was way, way beyond any natural or unnatural phenomenon he could ever imagine. First Mom and Bella and now, this guy. Were people just disappearing into thin air? 

He forced himself to inhale deeply. He could freak out later. But right now, this woman was trapped in her car and she needed help. 

After Harley helped the woman, he ran into the middle of Main Street and froze, eyes widening and fear icing over his stomach as he witnessed nothing but complete and utter chaos. 

There was a car crashed into the side of a building and people screaming as they ran wildly through the streets. His gaze darted all over, from one man screaming there was a fire in the diner to three teenagers smashing a baseball bat through the glass window of the small electronics store. 

It was the latter that snapped him out of his stupor. 

He ran across the street and down the sidewalk, careful not to barrel anyone over. All the screams were reaching a fever pitch. His ears whined a little. A teen swung at the window again with the bat and they all laughed maniacally amongst themselves, the glass glittering like diamonds on the sidewalk. 

Harley was never strong or built like a football player. But he mustered all his strength and charged forward and tackled one of the teenagers to the ground. They both grunted upon impact and then Harley straddled the teenager, punching him in the face until blood blossomed from his nose. 

There were arms, grappling. Trying to yank him off. Harley resisted and thrashed against their hold as he was dragged upwards to his feet. 

“Hey, back off, leave him alone!” they yelled into his ears as they threw him back. 

Harley stumbled before he regained purchase and shouted back, “Piss off!” 

While one teen helped up the one Harley had tackled to the ground, the other teen glared and stepped to Harley, running his eyes up and down along his frame like he was sizing up the competition. 

“Oh, yeah? Is that how you wanna play this?” 

Harley’s hands were shaking but not from fear. From anger. 

He was rattled. And God help anyone who dared to rattle Harley Keener. 

Heat flared in his chest and spread through his limbs as he glowered. He cocked his head at the would-be electronics robber and seethed, “I don’t make a habit of fighting cowards but maybe for you, I’ll make an exception.” 

The teen drew back a fist, elbow bending. Harley flinched. His arm was caught by one of his friends. 

“Let’s go man, come on,” he said. “It’s not worth it, let’s just roll.” 

Harley glared at the both of them and stood his ground. Then together, with their injured friend in tow, they turned and marched away in a huff. 

Then his attention was caught by someone yelling for help and Harley ran off in whatever direction he was needed next. 

-

Hours later, after he’d torn through the town helping wherever he could until his leg muscles burned and his heart was beating dangerously fast and hard in his chest, he was huddled in the old recliner in the living room. The overstuffed leather one that was tearing at the seams. 

He’d turned the television on and worldwide reports were flooding in on people mysteriously disappearing. Turning to ash. There were reports of plane crashes, missing cruise liners lost or stranded at sea. No one knew what or how or why this was happening. The world was demanding answers. 

_ “-have already seen a surge in crime amidst the chaos. And-what’s that? Alright. I am just now receiving word of a live message being sent out by Captain Steve Rogers from the Avengers Headquarters. Craig?” _

Entranced, Harley leaned forward as the screen filled with the image of Captain America. Except, this was a different Captain America than the one Harley knew. The clean shaven golden boy, the star spangled man with a plan. The one that gave PSA’s in school. This one’s suit was dark, torn and dirtied. His beard was overgrown and unkempt, hair tousled. Fresh blood dotted the corners of his mouth, face littered with cuts and abrasions. 

Harley chalked it up to life on the run and nothing more before Steve Rogers started speaking. 

_ “Hi there. I’m Captain America. I know I’ve been gone for a while but I’m here now because a lot of you are demanding answers. And you will get them. But for right now, I want to urge each and every one of you to look out for each other and keep each other as safe as you can. I know lots of you are probably scared right now. But even when we’re scared, we can’t let times of crisis divide us. We have to look to each other, to our fellow soldiers and brothers, and lean on them during this time. So please stay safe and take care of each other. Thank you.” _

It really raised more questions than answers. 

And as the video cut off and returned to the local Tennessee news anchor, Harley felt his coals being stoked, this supposedly riveting speech fanning these long dormant flames of anger. 

He stood from his chair and then he was moving, the world rushing by in a hazy blur as he marched across the yard to the garage and surveyed his options. Stray headlights. Beakers. Boxes of light bulbs. 

He didn’t care. He was just angry. Angry at the world, angry at his dad, angry at Captain America who probably knew what happened to Bella and his mom and wasn’t telling him anything. Angry that the universe was so hellbent on tearing away everyone he loved from him. 

Angry that no matter how hard he tried, no matter what he did, there were irreparably broken things in this world that he couldn’t fix and, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was one of them. 

He grabbed a wrench and he threw it. He didn’t know what it hit, only knew something shattered. It felt so satisfying that he threw another tool. And another. There was shattering and crashing and blood beating in his ears and someone screaming gutturally, like an animal, the noise reverberating within the corrugated metal walls. 

It didn’t even occur to him that the screams were coming from himself. 

It could’ve been an hour or an eternity or even minutes later when he finally sank to his knees, energy waning. There were shards of glass everywhere, glinting underneath the fluorescent lights. He couldn’t find where the beakers were. Orange and white pieces of broken tail lights were like mosaics against the concrete floor, which was cold through his jeans. His knuckles were stinging and bloodied, like he’d just been in a brawl. His shoulders heaved as he panted for air, heartbeat receding in his ears until all he could hear was his heavy breathing. 

He didn’t know what was worse: the mess he made or the fact that he didn’t even feel guilty about it. 

-

Three weeks later, his phone buzzed with a number he hadn’t heard from in a long time. 

** Tony (10:34am): ** _You alright, kid?_

His eyes widened as he read the single text, relief flooding in followed shortly by desperation. He hadn’t had anyone to talk to. He knew people here in Rose Hill but Tony was different. Tony might have answers. 

Tony might be able to bring his mom and Bella back. 

Harley switched over and called Tony instead, the line ringing only once before the call went through. 

_ “Harley?” _

“Tony?” Harley heaved an enormous sigh and bent over at the waist, hand on his knee. “Oh, thank God you’re alive.” 

_ “Yeah, it was a bit touch and go there for a while.” _

“I-I saw you,” Harley stammered, standing upright and wandering through the vacant house, over to the recliner. “On the spaceship a couple weeks ago.” 

_ “I don’t wanna talk about that,” _ Tony said, short. He exhaled, breath shaking like he was on the verge of an anxiety attack. It was troubling. If Tony was scared, then...then… _ “You alright? What about your mom?” _

Harley blinked, tried to shift his mindset, eyes roaming over the living room. He’d tried to keep it tidied but he couldn’t bring himself to move the stack of his mom’s folded laundry that was sitting on the couch. 

“I’m okay,” Harley replied. “Mom’s-Mom’s gone. Bella too.” 

Tony swore under his breath. He didn’t apologize. Harley didn’t know whether to be hurt by it or grateful he wouldn’t be pitied. 

Silence lingered. All Harley heard was Tony’s breathing over the phone for several moments. Finally, Harley screwed up his courage and asked, “Tony...what happened?” 

A pause. And then an answer that chilled him to his bones: _ “Something bad, Harley. And I don’t know if I can fix it.” _

Harley felt like he was going back to that night with a flip phone pressed against his ear and battered Iron Man suit laid out on his work bench. 

_ “You’re a mechanic right?” Harley had said. _

_“Yeah,” Tony had breathed in response. _

_ "You said so." _

_ "Yes. I did." _

It scared him. The idea that this was something Tony wouldn’t be able to fix. In his younger childish mind, he’d thought Tony would be able to fix anything. If he was younger now, then maybe he would’ve held fast to that ideal. Maybe Tony wouldn’t have been so casually, brutally honest with him about this. 

But now that he was older, now that he knew about broken things, everything was painfully clear. 

_ "Then why don't you just build something?" _

Tony was just as broken as everybody else. 

_ “You take care of yourself, okay?” _ Tony said, here and now. _ “And if something happens, then you call this number, alright?” _

Harley drew a knee to his chest, fingers fiddling with the laces on his sneakers as he tried not to let the disappointment settle too permanently. Tony wouldn’t be coming to check on him in person. He wished Tony would, wished Tony would come back for him the way his dad never did. 

Harley stifled a sigh. “Yes, sir,” he replied. 

_ “Good. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” _

Then the line went dead and Harley was left alone, in the house, with a pile of laundry he hadn’t put away for four weeks. 

-

He’s not quite sure how but he slowly learned to live again. He learned to live in a world that was missing half of all life. Half of all animals, humans and vegetation. Just gone. 

He tried to continue working as a mechanic, which was hard when half his clientele had turned into ash. The Avengers eventually did answer with some ludicrous story Harley wasn’t sure if he believed or not. Something having to do with fighting a mad Titan named Thanos and losing, resulting in half the universe turning to ash. 

Either way, he survived. He cooked himself dinner and ate by himself. He tended to the house: the gas leaks, the water breaks, the humidifier. He kept busy. 

He was still in school. It felt strange though. Walking through the empty hallways along with the few remaining students who were left. Sometimes, Harley swore he could feel the ghosts of the teenagers who once were and now weren’t anymore. Those who remained walked with hunched shoulders and a hauntedness ringing their eyes, bags beneath them. They looked more miserable than they had before everyone disappeared. 

There were counselors. Ordained by the state. Harley refused to go because there were other students who needed counseling more than he did. Other students who disappeared down a bottle despite being underage or turned to hurting themselves. Some succeeded, in that permanent way that whittled down the spirits of the remaining survivors. Harley didn't know how to feel. Only knew that the funerals were rainy and oftentimes, their parents weren’t there. 

He was managing fine. Better, anyways, than all those who weren’t managing at all. 

So he stayed busy and stayed caught up with his studies. But when he came across empty slots of time, it was hard. Because he didn’t know what to do when he let himself stand still. And if he stood still for too long, then he became all too aware of how much the world truly had stopped. It was an eerie, unsettling feeling. A reminder. That he was still missing his other two halves. 

And he didn’t know if they were ever coming back.

-

Graduation was a solemn affair. 

There were attempts to be cheery, made solely by the principal in her speech she gave to the graduating class. It was the smallest Rose Hill had ever known. Twenty kids, Harley among them. 

After the speech ended, Harley rose from his folding chair seat and joined the line of classmates who were climbing the stairs and crossing the stage to accept their diplomas, shaking hands with the principal as they went. 

As their names were being called, the line moved forward slowly. Despite telling himself to keep his head down, Harley’s eyes desperately wandered to the parents or friends sitting in the folding chairs on the yard outside the school. There were too many empty seats. 

It was stupid, maybe, but he kept hoping. Kept waiting for that moment when his mom and Bella would reappear again. He was hoping they would because he didn’t want to go home to an empty house and eat dinner alone with no one to celebrate with. 

His face fell along with his hopes as he climbed the stairs, loneliness permeating through his insides. 

He took the diploma, forced a smile, shook his principal’s hand and then left. 

At home, there was a package waiting for him on the doorstep, which was strange. Harley hadn’t ordered anything and money was tight. He could barely keep up with all the bills and the mortgage as it was. 

But just barely. Because every time he began to toe the line financially, or thought he’d have to go to sleep hungry, there was an anonymous deposit in his bank account. No names, no note. And always just the right sum of money he needed, sometimes a little bit more. 

Someone watching out for him, in ways Harley never thought would someone would. 

He grabbed the box, took it inside and set it on the kitchen table, slitting the tape with a box cutter. There was no return address on the label, which was also strange. 

Brow furrowed together in confusion, he flipped open the box and took out an envelope, his name written in sharp and ostentatious letters. He set it aside and then took out another box inside covered with plain wrapping paper. 

He shook it and when it barely rattled, he tore into the wrapping paper and cast it to the floor. Once it was unwrapped, he lifted the lid of the box. Tissue paper crinkled beneath his fingertips as he shoved it aside and took out a folded, cranberry colored sweatshirt with three large white letters on the front: MIT. 

Harley’s breath began to quicken, mind circling through possibilities he briefly considering before racing to the next one. He knew what MIT was. Knew only kids who came from money had the chance of getting a ride into MIT and that scholarship opportunities only came to Tennessee once every blue moon. He had no idea why the hell he would be sent an MIT sweatshirt from someone who didn’t even post their return address on the box. 

Suddenly, the envelope seemed a lot more important. 

Harley dropped the sweatshirt and then tore into the envelope, ripping out the letter inside without tearing the paper. His eyes scanned over the text. 

_ Hey Harley, _

_I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your graduation. I got a lot going on right now but I wanted to say congratulations. High school sucks and the worst of it is over now. _

_I wanted to let you know that I put in a word with MIT. I’ve got friends in high places there and they said they’d be more than welcome to have you there next fall, if you want. I’m talking a full ride, kid. Paid for by yours truly. But only if you want it. And if not next fall then whenever you’re ready. I understand if you don’t want to leave home, if it’d be too hard with everything you’re going through right now. So when you’re ready. And only when you’re ready. _

_I’m sorry, Harley. That your mom and sister couldn’t be there. I know they mean a lot to you. But I want you to know that I’m doing everything I can to figure out a way to bring them back. _

_If something happens, call. _

_Take care of yourself. _

_Yours truly,  
The Mechanic _

Harley dropped the letter onto the kitchen table and sunk down into a chair, uncomprehending. It felt like his whole world had imploded in the worst and best way possible, simultaneously. 

A full ride. To MIT. To a school he could only dream of one day being able to attend. All handed to him on a silver platter in a way that felt too good to be true. 

But on the other hand, Tony was right. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to leave now, when Rose Hill was still in the worst shape it’s ever been in, and when everything was still here. His mom and Bella were still here. In the special jam his mom made and stashed away in the cabinet above the fridge, in the art supplies Bella kept on her desk along with loose leaf paper and half finished drawings. He couldn’t leave them. He couldn’t leave everything here and go to college. 

All he had left was here. A house with remnants of his family inside. A garage where he could fix whatever was broken. He couldn’t just up and leave all the way to Maschussetts. Not now. Not when he was still waiting for the day he would look up and his mom and Bella would be standing here, alive and safe and whole. 

Torn. That was a good way to describe how he felt. Torn. 

In the end, Harley sat and thought and read the letter over and over again, thumb tracing over where Tony had handwritten “The Mechanic” at the bottom of the page. Tony, watching out for him. Taking care of him in one of the few ways he knew how, considering they were miles and miles away from each other. 

By the time the sun began to dip down over the fields, casting the wheat in shades of yellow, he smoothed out the letter and stuck it to the fridge with a magnet, eyes running over the words. 

_ So when you’re ready. And only when you’re ready. _

He wasn’t ready yet. 

-

On the one year anniversary of the day it happened, and he’d discovered that his whole world had crumbled to ash at his feet, Harley sat outside in the backyard. 

Around the world, most everyone had presumed that those who disappeared were dead. The Avengers did not dispute this with any press releases or special announcements. It was a coin toss whether that was good or bad, in Harley’s mind. There were memorials in major cities and mass graves in others. In Rose Hill, everyone was too poor or too in denial to buy a grave for their loved ones, Harley being on the poor end of the spectrum. 

Instead, he nailed together some two-by-fours and set the crosses into the vacant flowerbeds, where he’d spent hours prior weeding out the flowers and weeds that had died over the harsh winter. He tacked a picture of his mom to one and one of Bella to the other. He sat and just talked to them. For hours. About the stupidest things. About how business was going, about the movie he watched the other night on cable, about the rare updates that were given on whether the Avengers had made any progress on bringing everyone back. The answer? They hadn’t. 

But Harley talked. He talked about the MIT letter with his mom and tried to imagine her exaggerated expressions while Bella argued that he shouldn’t go or else he might turn into a city slicker. 

Even after the one year anniversary, he talked to them every single day, relaying misadventures in attempting to cook or trying to talk through a problem he was having a car which almost always ended with pure elation as he sprung off into the garage to fix the problem he hadn’t realized was the problem all along. 

And it helped. 

Just a little. 

-

At some point, after almost two years of one sided conversations, Harley stopped going out altogether. 

He’d lost all his hope, slowly sapped every single day without him realizing. With every hopeful glance that shortly died once he realized his mom wasn’t there. With every creak in the floorboards that in the end, turned out to be a rodent and not Bella: the only true pest he knew and loved. 

The naive optimism melted away and pessimism slithered in. He became someone angry again. 

Because whether or not he wanted to admit it, his mom and Bella were gone. 

And they were never coming back. 

-

It was five years after everyone disappeared when something happened. 

Harley was cleaning the garage. Somehow, he still managed to find shards of broken tail lights and glass. But he didn’t know what else to do with his time, how else to fill the void. So he committed himself to busy work and just cleaned. 

He was just standing with a full dustpan in one hand, broom in the other, when his eye caught on a man standing on the street corner. 

Harley’s brow creased together in confusion as he stepped closer to the window, remembering that car crash from five years back. The man looked around the street in confusion and then that same woman from five years ago ran across the street and met him on the corner and flung her arms around his neck.

Disbelief and astonishment took hold as Harley watched them embrace. And then a new realization burned bright and fast as he dropped the dustpan and broom and ran from the garage, out to the house. 

“Mom?” he called and ran into the kitchen, eyes frantic and searching. 

And then...and then she was there. 

And she was looking at him with wide, disbelieving eyes and whispering, “Harley?” with a tearful voice as she patted her apron and then examined her hands like they were a miracle.

Harley just took her in. Her dirty blonde hair falling in loose waves to her shoulder, roots graying. Fine wrinkles forming around her mouth and her sad, scared eyes. 

“Harley?” she gasped. “What happened? Am I-is this...what? What happened to me?” 

Harley shook his head, tears forming as his mom began to blur in front of him. “I don’t-I don’t know,” he stammered. His throat curdled with wetness as he breathed, relief flooding his senses. “Oh, Mom. Oh, God, Mom.” 

He couldn’t bear it anymore. He crossed the kitchen and threw his arms around her as she did the same, a hand cradling his head like he was still a baby. As she cried, he buried his nose into the crook of her neck, inhaling the faint scent of lavender perfume that still laced her clothes, even after all these years. He cried into her shoulder as he tightened his arms around her, like she might just disappear again if he let go. 

At some point during all the tears, his mom sniffled and then said, “Oh, let me look at you, Harley. Let me look at you.” 

They let go of each other and her eyes drank him in. He had grown a couple inches and his hair had gotten longer. But her? She hadn’t even aged a day. 

It seemed to upset her, how much he had matured. She shook her head, pressing a hand to her mouth, sorrowed eyes brimming with fresh tears. 

“Oh, Harley,” she lamented, painfully. “How long was I gone?” 

But as he opened his mouth to answer, he was met with a new, quiet voice: “Harley?” 

He turned around, floorboards creaking, as a girl with brunette hair down to her middle slowly wandered down the hall towards them. Her brown eyes were wide and frightened, arms wrapped around herself, like she was trying to physically hold herself together. 

Isabella Keener. 

“Is that-is that you?” she stammered, nervously. 

“Yeah,” Harley croaked, voice wet. “Yeah, Bella, it’s me.” 

And Bella ran forward, and Harley bent down, and she ran right into his arms. 

She flung her arms around his neck and he held her small, quivering body against his. He felt his mom’s arms wrap around the both of them. 

It was the first time Harley had truly known peace in five years. 

Then they all sat together in the living room and Harley turned on the television. 

Sandwiched together on the couch, they watched the miraculous reports come flooding in. People were coming back. Some in mid-air, some in the middle of the sea. But at least they were coming back and thankfully, the news focused on the ones reappearing in their old apartments or on the sidewalk. For once, there was optimism. Hope. 

The world slowly began to spin into motion again but it was different this time. It didn’t feel so empty. Harley had his mom again. He had Bella. He didn’t plan on taking them for granted. 

It was almost a week after everyone had come back when there was a knock on the garage door. 

“Come in,” Harley called as his grease covered hands moved over all the machines beneath the car’s bonnet. Some teen from school needed it fixed. It was back to business as usual. 

He heard the hinges squeaking as the door opened, afternoon light spilling in. He didn’t look to see who it was. He was too caught up in removing the battery to check it. More than likely, that was the issue. Most teens from school wouldn’t know a dead battery even if they were slapped in the face with one. 

As he examined the battery, he heard shoes clicking across the concrete followed by a familiar voice: “This is quite the set up you got here.” 

He didn’t know her personally, but he recognized her voice all the same.

Harley turned on his stool to see Pepper Potts standing in the entryway, silhouetted by the light from outside coming in. 

Embarrassment rushed to his cheeks and he ducked his head down, shy. He should’ve been more polite. 

“Sorry,” he said and set the battery down on a nearby worktable. “Hi, Ms. Potts.” 

“Hi, Harley,” she replied with a small smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

“It’s nice to meet you too. I would give you a hug but I don’t think you want grease all over you.” 

Pepper laughed politely, all breath. “It’s alright, Harley.” 

He nodded and grabbed a towel from the workbench, rubbing his hands with it. He gestured to the fridge in the corner. “Is there anything I can get you? Water, beer?” 

She held out a hand to decline his offer. “I’m okay, thank you. But, um, I came here to talk to you about something.” 

Her expression had been friendly and cordial up until this point, when a grave seriousness began to dawn over features. Her eyes became downcast, lips tilting into a frown. A heavy dread began to settle like lead in Harley’s stomach. 

He stood silently, waiting with bated breath. The tension was thick. Harley couldn’t stop rubbing his dry hands with the rag. 

“It’s Tony,” Pepper finally said, head hanging low. When she finally looked up at him, her eyes were red rimmed and teary, even as she smiled. “He’s gone.” 

The thing was this: Harley Keener knew anger. He knew the bone deep, rattling anger. The all consuming rage that seemed to burn eternally and he could never make it go away, no matter how hard he tried. 

But Harley Keener also knew loss. He knew how cutting emptiness was and he knew grief. He knew it like a circle that he could never quite escape from. He’d just cycle through the stages over and over again. 

And somehow, in this bitter moment of raw, palpable defeat, he didn’t know anger. Didn’t know it as he felt the world crashing down on him, as his heart froze in his chest. Didn’t rage at Pepper as he sank down to his knees because he had spent so much anger on losing the father he never had that he never thought about one day losing the father he always had, even if it was for only one day. Even if he’d never seen Tony again since that night, and they only stayed in touch through phone calls and letters and scholarships. 

He didn’t cry. He didn’t know if he would’ve felt better if he had. Where he would’ve been angry, he just felt numbness spreading and crawling all through his limbs. Maybe this wasn’t real. Maybe the last five years weren’t either. Maybe this was all just a lucid dream he would wake up from if he closed his eyes hard enough and opened them. 

But then he was in upstate New York at a cabin. Standing alone in a stiffly pressed suit, courtesy of Pepper. He was surrounded by his childhood heroes and idols and yet, he felt alone. In a crowd of familiar faces, he was anonymous. 

He watched as an old arc reactor prototype set sail on a bed of flowers across the lake. All he could think about was that night. 

_ "So you're just gonna leave me here? Like my dad?" _

At some point as the crowd began to filter away, Harley ran. He pushed through the crowd of heroes and ran and ran, ran until his legs burned, ran until his heart felt like it would explode, ran like he did that day when the whole world was falling apart and there was nothing he could do to fix it. 

No one could fix this. Not even Captain America himself. 

He emerged from the foliage and trees that rushed past him in a blur. His suit was torn and dirtied but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He couldn’t find it in himself to be angry. He was too spent. 

He found himself standing on the ruins of what used to be the Avengers compound. There were boulders and massive chunks of rubble littering the ground. What used to be the compound was now just concrete a good mile away. Even on the outskirts, Harley could see what used to be walls. 

He also saw that he wasn’t alone. 

There was someone standing amidst the rubble. They were turned away, so Harley couldn’t see their face, but their statures were similar. They had brown hair. They were wearing a suit. 

It clicked: Peter Parker. 

They’d met briefly before the rest of the heroes arrived. Peter was as friendly as one could manage, considering the circumstances. They’d both been in the room when Tony’s holographic message played. 

_ "Hey there," Harley said as he approached Peter, who was standing in the doorway. _

_Peter startled, wide eyes snapping away from where they’d been distantly staring out across the garden. He sighed, shoulders sagging. "Oh. Hey." _

_"Harley," he said and extended a hand. _

_Peter's lips barely tilted into a friendly smile as they shook hands. "Peter."_

_When their palms withdrew, Harley leaned against the doorframe and stared out at the lake, where all the heroes were gathering on the banks in wait. It might’ve been a dream come true, once. But now: _

_"This sucks, doesn't it?" Harley commented, trying to ignore the surge of hot anger rippling through his chest. _

_Peter nodded and looked down, scuffed the ground with his shoes. _

_"Yeah," he replied. “Yeah it does." _

Harley stood silently, not daring to approach him. They were only acquaintances, mostly strangers. Harley knew Peter was Spider-Man and that was it. Otherwise, they were complete unknowns to each other. 

So Harley watched him, watched as Peter’s eye seemed to catch on something glinting in the little shafts of light shining between the clouds. 

Peter cautiously stepped over the rubble, rocks and gravel crunching and shifting beneath his feet. He stopped by a boulder and bent down while Harley slowly ventured forward. 

Peter then stood, a metal helmet in his hands. 

Something caused Harley’s heart to stop beating. He halted dead in his tracks, barely breathing as Peter’s thumb pad tracked through the dirt and grime marring the vibrant red and gold hues. A pained expression found its way onto Harley’s face, brown eyes sorrowed. 

He couldn’t see Peter’s expression, but his voice was detached and wet, like someone who was trying to distance themselves and failing miserably. 

“When I was, um, when I was younger, I went to one of Mr. Stark’s expos. I don’t remember what he said but I remember him talking about what we choose to leave behind. For the people who come after us.” 

Peter slowly turned, eyes red rimmed and swollen. He drew in a deep breath and slowly set his shoulders and Harley felt the need to prepare. For what, he didn’t know. But somehow he knew something was coming the way farmers know when there’s a storm on the horizon. He hadn’t known Peter long but the determination in his eyes was unmistakable. 

“Mr. Stark left me a lot of things,” Peter continued, looking down at the helmet. “He gave me a lot and I learned so much. He wanted me to...to carry on, I think. Whatever he left behind.” 

“And what did he leave behind?” Harley asked, carefully stepping around rocks and rubble. 

Peter lifted the helmet. “This.” 

Harley looked down at it, where clean streaks cut through the layers of dirt and toil. It was crippled by dents and wrinkled metal. Certainly in need of repairs. 

But somehow, he didn’t think Peter was asking him to simply fix the helmet. 

“Mr. Stark left behind Iron Man,” Peter said. “He wanted me to be better than him. But I can’t, I can’t be. All I can really be is Spider-Man.” 

“So...what are you saying?” Harley asked, suspicion settling in. He knew what was coming next. He wanted, no, he _ needed _ Peter to say it. 

Peter brushed his thumb over the helmet and then extended it, smiling sadly. “I think he’d want you to be Iron Man.” 

Slowly, without even realizing it, Harley found himself shaking his head. This was all too much. He didn’t deserve it. He was just a mechanic from Tennessee, some lucky kid who happened upon Tony Stark in his garage one cold, December night. He wasn’t hero material. He wasn’t made for this. 

“No,” Harley murmured, a tinge of fear and panic lacing his words. “No, Parker, I can’t.” 

“Sure you can,” Peter insisted, confident and gentle. “After all, you helped him with his suit, didn’t you?” 

Harley blinked at him, brow furrowed in confusion. “You know about that?” 

Peter laughed slightly, a smile gracing his lips only a moment. “Yeah. I mean, he talked about you a lot. About you how you fixed his suit and helped him find the Mandarin. You meant a lot to him, you know.” 

Harley didn’t know how to react to that, still caught in the fact that Peter Parker aka Spider-Man himself was holding an Iron Man helmet and asking him to take up the mantle. 

“That whole Mandarin thing was different,” Harley insisted. “Tony told me what to do. I knew what to do. I don’t-I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this.” 

Peter shrugged. “Well, nobody really does. We all just kinda have to figure it out as we go. I mean, that’s how I started out but. You could always call Colonel Rhodes to help.” 

“Rhodey,” Harley corrected. He laughed awkwardly, trying to lighten the mood and assuage how his stomach was tying itself into anxious knots. “You’re way too formal, Parker.” 

Peter laughed, scuffed his shoes in the dirt. He sighed deeply, re-extending the helmet. “So what do you say?” 

Harley looked at it. It was damaged. But then again, they all were, in one way or another. Didn’t mean broken things weren’t worth fixing. 

Harley saw something in it, saw what Tony did in a scared bullied kid that night in the dim lighting of Harley’s garage: potential. He could get it working better again, maybe even better than before. 

It reminded him that, at heart, Tony truly saw himself as a mechanic. Someone who fixed things. 

And yeah, this was something that he couldn’t fix it. No matter how many things he tore apart and pieced back together, he’d never be able to bring Tony back. 

But he was a mechanic too. And if he could fix Iron Man, if he could put the pieces back together again, at least it’d be something. Somewhere to start. A jumping off point. 

He took the helmet from Peter’s hands, their fingertips brushing, and he settled it against his hip, under one arm. He extended a hand. 

“Thank you, Parker,” Harley said. “For everything.” 

Peter’s lips tilted in an almost smile and he closed the distance between them, coming in for a hug. Harley’s vision blurred and he closed his eyes, tears escaping as he wrapped one arm around Peter’s neck and Peter did the same. 

They stood there like that a moment, something slotting into place. They were the ones that got away, the ones who were left behind. Just two boys lucky enough to have met Tony Stark. Something in the firmness and the fierceness in their embrace echoed determination.

They were _ not _ going to let Tony down. 

And when they released each other, each taking a deep breath, Harley felt something small and flickering like hope as Peter wiped his tears away and laughed. 

“Well. I hope to see you out there...Iron Man.”

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah. now that i got all that harley & peter outta my system, be sure to leave a comment/kudos if you enjoyed and i'll talk to you guys next update. love you guys, bye!
> 
> [wattpad: ironarana](www.wattpad.com/user/ironarana)  
[ko-fi: ironarana](www.ko-fi.com/ironarana)


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